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Elena Mar 7
Treasure is a current
Strong and full of richness
Atop lush foundations
Peak monumental formations

To dig up treasure
Is to fuel the planet with toxic waste,
And then call it “wealth.”

Gold mines dig deeper holes
While silver tongues manifest poetic roles
A current indeed!
We treasure an illusion
We call it a seed
Yet it functions just like a basic need

Truth protests, like an invasive ****
But riches sweep away truth’s plea
Hacking at the roots of transparency.
Charlie's Web Feb 13
An open letter to my mothers boyfriend,

When you blame millennials for the current state of our nation, you are disregarding the environment we've learn to survive in. Cookies hanging over our heads, blindly following the sound of people celebrating empty dreams. Dreams recited by our fathers.  I am not trying to place blame on you, as I know you too have been infected by these unspoken rules. You too had a cookie hanging over your head. But I want you to know that our cookies just look different. As time passes recipes’ recalibrate and cookies transform. And I feel for you, maybe you’re still chasing the cookie, maybe it’s getting harder to chase, or maybe you ate the cookie and still felt hungry. But if we really want to have this conversation, about the current state of our nation, I’m gonna need for you to stop talking about cell phones and 20 something year olds and start talking about where these cookies came from!
How are you?
If anyone asks

For once
Looking at their eyes, reply
50% Off

They will be
Attentive
Genre: Observational
Theme: Obsessed with shopping || Strategy
if Jūrmala
by Riga
she fettered
goat head
aim for
orient in
sea yesterday
she stank
like the
submarine there
with Latvia
as Über
recoiled their
way to
Dow Nation
with centipede
in lore
a middle of the road strategu
Homunculus May 2015
Behold!

The great
Leviathan, with
teeth of steel, with
feet of clay.

Subjected to this
giant's whim,
the sweet sojourn  
of life decays,

Infected now, we
lie and skim; while
markets mire
mother's way,

rejected reason,
presses on, to
try again
another day.
when ****
day afternoon
was really
something to
behold in
Nashville with
catastrophic notes
that mother
backs another
day and
timbre her
fortune with
a dainty
song and
hence wake
in market
of blues
. . .on a pond
floating here,
gliding there . . .
not really water,
nor, is it completely air,
just a substance inbetween us all.
What is the point of endless economic crashes when you print money by typing on a keyboard? If capitalism can only exist as formula tweaked and altered to ripen gains and losses then it is a fraud.
I once saw a nation on fire,
just their home a family's desire.
The government was corrupted by liars,
with an economy trapped in quagmires?
To end the schism they gave Wall Street socialism,
leaving 'The People' impoverished and tired.
Eric Babsy Oct 2018
I found a way for us all to be together
Be my brother words of a feather

Together we can bring upon triumph
Together we bought together

To bring upon triumph
Words bought together

Can we as people not bring upon what we are
People that come from a sacred race

That built us a shrine
Together forever to remember the divine

Can we have our children taught
So violence is not made whatever

Can we bring upon the future
To bring us another creature feature

Creature were brought to serve human beings
Although they never should be slaughtered

To bring us things
They keep the lonely company

Just to bring upon
Whatever lifesaver forgot

Animals have not sent us to the grave
To settle what is empty

To give us invincible might
What has brought us together by slight

Can we teach our children to be wild and free
So we can settle together human races economy

We have pressing issues
Can make us cry to give us tissues

We mend as brothers
To mend one another
Lavinia Martin Sep 2018
Let's start at the very beginning

Prologue.
Brown skin. Flat nose. Short.
I was a free land for you to take.
For once I was in glee.
Until you had me taken and used.
You have forgotten who you are.

Chapter 1.
A blank page. A mystery.
Who were you really?

Chapter 2.
White skin. Pointed Nose. Tall.
A variety of people I didn't recognize.
You welcomed them while some fought with blood.
This is what you've done.
You have sold who you are.

Chapter 3.
The never-ending battle.
The battle within oneself.
You told yourself you are free.
There are no battles, no blood, no freedom.
You have forgotten what freedom is.

Chapter 4.
There are battles. There is blood.
Yet you have chosen to close your eyes.
Is this the love you have proclaimed for me?
You have helped no one with your steels and wood.

Chapter 5.
You freed yourselves from the dictator.
But there is still no peace at hand.
You all drown from the deep flood.
Yet you'd rather race each other to the shore.
Haven't you realized? You are not in the sea.

Chapter 6.
You are not at land either.
At least not ours.
You step at our muddy lands yet your mind is far from home.
You scrub your skin until its white.
To you, your skin is dirt.

Chapter 7.
Across the land, some eyes are red.
Their hands are rough with dirt,
clutching unto a plastic that smells.
It dives unto their minds and they smiled.
I wasn't able to protect them when you saw them with a bullet in their heads.

Chapter 8.
Mothers and Fathers that I raised
Have left me and you as well
To be able to put zero's in your wallets
They fight with their hands so rough
You. For you. But what about me? How about me?

Chapter 9.
It's an unending cycle of a triangular shape.
You fall. I fall. Some rise.
You all have lost hope and wish to leave me so soon.
Is this really who you are?
Will I never find who I truly am?

Chapter 10.
An empty page.
The writer of the book grew tired.
He didn't continue— or he never got to.
No one really knew.

Epilogue.
The page was not there.
Ripped like a masterpiece.
A painting of blood along its back.

I am an open book, ready for anyone to read.
Yet you have flipped me close and left me to fill with dust.
You have left me on the bookshelf
and slept in a locked room.
Something for my country.
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